We're All Alright
by OncomingBeige
Summary: The Fifth Doctor is tired, and hurt. What in the world could be said to ease his pain? TenFive, sort of? Implied TenTurloughFive, TurloughFive and TenRose.


A/N: This little one-shot is the angsty afterpiece to an as-of-yet-unfinished smut story involving Turlough, Five and Ten. The main piece was supposed to be relatively light hearted, but both Five and Ten have just come from fairly traumatic circumstances, and no way are either of them alright. The idea for this story comes mostly from the observation that in the last two episodes of Peter Davison's last season, the Doctor just seems really tired to me. He's far more snarky than he'd normally be, even to those he's supposed to like, and a few comments by Six back up my theory. Who better to help him deal with his tiredness than someone who understands quite perfectly?

The reference to the rest of his life being a never-ending cricket game springs from the Timewyrm idea that previous incarnations of the Doctor sort of exist in his head. Only without the Fivey torture.

For time references, this takes place somewhere between Resurrection of the Daleks and Planet of Fire for Five, and after The Runaway Bride for Ten, though pre-Season Three.

I hope I've done both Doctors justice, some of this was terribly difficult. This is my first completed Whofic, so...please be gentle? And review. Pretty please.

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Afterwards, when Turlough had gone off to either shower or make something to eat - the Doctors had winsomely made the suggestion of a pot of tea, for which they both received a glower and a reminder that he was not their maid - they sat together, at first in silence. The blond Doctor was on his back, body at a slight angle to the man upon whose chest his head rested. Long, thin fingers combed restlessly through the long, pale hair.

At length, the blond Doctor sighed and raised his hands to his face, scrubbing at it. They dropped back to his side, and his eyelids fluttered for a moment.

"Are you feeling guilty?" His successor's voice was soft, and at the same time terribly intense. "You really shouldn't, you know." A soft chuckle. "I always did think too much."

"Pot calling the kettle black." The blond chided. "You've just learned to hide it better." He sighed again. "I'm tired." His voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

"I suggest a nap then. Don't worry, I'll still be here when you wake up." There was a pause. "Or not...do you have a preference?"

"I didn't mean..." And then, suddenly, he was rolling over onto his stomach, hands braced on either side of the man below him, and the brown-haired Doctor had to viciously suppress his libido, because the blond above him looked so young and old and sad and worn. And beautiful. I wonder if that's the reason we got beat up and tied up so often back then, his mind gibbered as he tried not to think about skin being pressed unmercifully and unrelentingly to skin, 'cause we-he-I looked so _good_ like that. Beaten Not that it makes it alright, not remotely alright. Not that I understand. I mean, I'm not a sadist. Not that I'd like to tie him up again and-Whoa! The mental reins to **that** train of thought were abruptly and violently drawn in. No more of that

It was only after a long pause that he realized that what had been meant had not yet been elaborated on. "Yeah?"

For a moment, the blond didn't answer, and when he did, it wasn't an answer at all. "By the way, you never said..."

"Tenth."

"Ah, I see." He rolled off again, coming to rest beside his counterpart. His hands were clasped in front of him, eyes staring dully up at the ceiling. The Doctor didn't like the look of it at all. The next pause was so long that the blonde might have gone to sleep, even with his eyes open. The Doctor was beginning to think he had, when he spoke again in that voice that was barely above a whisper. "How do you stand it?"

The brown haired Doctor turned on his side, brows furrowing. "What?"

"Rather, I should say...how **did** you stand it?" The blond heaved a deep sigh and closed his eyes. "She said...she was tired. Sick of the death and the destruction. To be honest...so am I." When his eyes opened, a moment later, they were no longer dull. He looked bruised, and the look in his eyes WAS tired, but also pained. And yet...the Doctor thought he saw something...just a tiny sliver of hope, and maybe that hurt worst of all. He was supposed to be wiser, better equipped to deal with this. The truth was it hurt just as bad as it had back then, and the words to say to comfort this younger version of himself were hard to come by, because he was tired himself. The list of the dead that followed the Daleks wherever they went...

He was still looking at him though, even as the hope slowly faded away, swallowed by the pain and the resignation, and the Doctor really didn't want to see that look on the blond's face, the one that said 'So this is how it's going to be?', with his mouth quirking downward and then straightening, as he tried to harden his face along with his heart. The Doctor would find the words, the ones to make it right.

He leaned over and brushed his lips against the blond's first. "You'll stand it because Turlough's still here." He murmured, pulling the blond Doctor close despite resistance. "You'll stand it because there will be others with which to share adventures. You'll stand it because you haven't seen the whole universe yet."

The other Doctor was silent, and then he shook his head slowly. "Isn't that the problem, though? Bumbling through space and time, always looking for the next interesting thing and leaving a mess behind..." His voice was muffled against the Doctor's shoulder.

"That's not true." The Doctor insisted. "You know it's not. You've saved so many lives."

"Why does the cost always have to be so high?" His voice was plaintive, almost childlike. "I've never understood..."

"I know. I still don't. But it's worth it, to have the Earth safe, to be able to stop the suffering. I wish it wasn't that way, but..." Even as he said it, he wished he could be saying something else. All that desire to find the 'right words', only to find out that maybe they didn't exist, maybe there were only words that soothed, but not healed. A band-aid so that you could limp on for a little while longer, until you could find someone or something that could truly heal you.

The question that broke his introspection took him by surprise. "And what about your price? The one you lost, was that sacrifice worth it?" The voice was shrewd, the look on his face sharp as he pulled back and stared.

The Doctor couldn't answer as his eyes slipped away from the piercing, knowing gaze. He had almost forgotten this side of this regeneration, the times when the sharp edges sliced through the otherwise benevolent shroud that was his personality.

When the answer didn't come, when the look of pain danced across his face and through his eyes, the shroud fell back into place, the eyes softening. "I'm sorry." the blond Doctor murmured. "That was terribly rude of me. It's not my place to ask." A hand reached up and brushed the other Doctor's shoulder in a gesture of repentance, a plea for forgiveness.

"No, it's alright." His answer was to brush a hand through the dark blond hair. He sighed, contemplating the blond for a moment before he shrugged. "I could lie and say that yes, the Earth's safety was worth losing her, but that's not true. More than anything, I want her back. If preventing her from slipping meant losing Earth to the Cybermen or the Daleks...well, I don't know. In a way, I'm glad I didn't have to make the choice." He paused for a moment. "I went on because there are stars out there that I still haven't seen, 'cause there are people being oppressed that I know I can save. Because I hope that in the end, the good memories are going to outweigh the bad, and I have to give them a fighting chance. And so do you."

What he wished he could tell him, wished so much and so bad that it almost hurt, was to hang in there for just a little while longer. That someone else would be taking the driver's seat shortly, and that he could finally relax. Life would become one long cricket game, forever under the warm, bright sun of an English summer, with tea and crumpets waiting nearby on a table, service for 5. He wished he could, but there was no way he could let something like that enter the blond's knowledge, and so he simply smiled at him gently and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"...Tell me about her." Came the soft request.

For a moment, the Doctor was confused, and then his eyes softened and his smile became wider, if somewhat more wry. "Her name is Rose. Oh, you're going to love her. She's passionate and kind. Hell of a mother, though." He grimaced, though mockingly. "Never thought I'd never have to deal with a _mother_, ever. D'you know, she actually SLAPPED me once! Jackie Tyler, now there's a woman to look out for." He laughed, and then sobered suddenly. "See, that's another reason you've got to keep going. Rose is waiting."

The blond Doctor had closed his eyes to listen, a small smile working its way onto his lips at the mention of being slapped. He opened them again, and then sighed. Somehow, it was less sad than before, though there was still an air of resignation. When he spoke, his voice was wry. "I suppose I don't have all that much of a choice, in the end. Can't very well muck about with the time continuum, now can I?"

"No, not really." The other Doctor conceded, smiling apologetically. "Sorry?"

He got a shake of the head and another small smile. "Oh well." A pause, and then. "You know, I think I might well take that nap. Feel free to stay." His tone had become less vulnerable, more avuncular and accommodating, but there was a fond look on his face that told the Doctor that the blond was far less detached than his tone would lead you to believe.

"I'll do that. Keep Turlough company with the tea or something." As the blond's eyes closed, he leaned over and kissed him one more time. "Hey." He said on an impulse. "Brave heart."

The blond's eyes opened, and a brow was lifted, one corner of his mouth quirking up incredulously. The look, overall, perfectly conveyed a sentiment of 'Oh, come now', although amused. After a moment, he covered himself with the sheet and turned on his side, eyes closing once again.

The Doctor watched him for a good five minutes, to make sure he was asleep, before he slipped off of the bed and began to collect his clothes. Speaking of which...he turned back to the bed and its slumbering occupant. "By the way," He uttered softly. "Do me a favor, okay? When the time comes, for heaven's sake, avoid _Joseph's Technicolor Dreamcoat_. Please. We have better dress sense than that."


End file.
